Aparecium
by Catty Engles
Summary: [BETA READER WANTED] Aparecium: A spell used to reverse concealing charms. These stories are hidden between the covers. Just tap your copy of any Harry Potter book, murmur Aparecium, and these new passages will appear. [Canon]
1. 7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Branding

Author's Note:

You may read any chapter in any order. This fanfiction is a collection of one-shots that flesh out stories that are either alluded to have happened, or are inspired by a quote or passage from the books. They are all _strictly_ canon so you can think of them as the deleted scenes. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter labeling explained: **7th** (the book the story is associated with) **,** **Dark Lord Ascending** (the chapter it is associated with) **: Branding** (the topic of the story).

 **7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Branding  
** Catty Engles

 _The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men's way. Neither of them broke step: in silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through…_

* * *

The iron bars before Snape that only a second ago were firm and solid, swirled away, reduced to inky suggestions. The brand that had granted him passage burned black on Snape's forearm. It triggered a memory earlier that summer, little over a month ago… June 5th. Like tonight, Snape had been responding to a summons from his master. The dewy air had hung heavy around Malfoy Manor that day as Snape pushed open the heavy wooden door of the drawing room.

It had been a gathering of Voldemort's closest supporters, similar to tonight, the largest since the disaster at The Ministry. Lucius Malfoy, the master of the house in name only, overlooked the scene from a giant portrait over the barren fireplace. The real Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned in Azkaban after his capture at The Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago. To add insult to ignominy, Lord Voldemort had taken up residence in Malfoy's vacated home. Lucius's wife and son sat in fearful silence near the bottom of the table. Narcissa lightly smoothed her the pale young man's hair with a shaking hand, until he shook her off. Draco was staring down at his empty plate, still gripping his fork as if he would have preferred it were a wand. It was obvious why when Snape turned his attention to the scene around him.

There had been an odd air of frivolity on this day in early summer. Voldemort's mood was light, despite recent setbacks. Tonight, he allowed laughter and cruel banter to flow freely. A recent foray into the cellars of the Malfoy's house had turned up a few casks of costly elf-made wine, and since it was in vogue to embarrass the Malfoys, the entire assemblage was making a great show of drinking it.

Yaxley was regaling Selwyn and Rowle with a tale of how he had tormented a Muggle family earlier that day in West Sussex. Bellatrix Lestrange and Alecto Carrow were using the Malfoy's fine china as target practice. Aiming just so that pieces of porcelain would shower Wormtail who took the humiliation in angry silence. Travers and Goyle were muddling their way through a nasty and meandering drinking song that included a mermaid rejecting suitors of all races for one suggestive fault or another. It was a rare time that Voldemort allowed festivities such as this, so the celebrations were rabid.

Snape took his seat near the head of the table, and had been only half-listening to Yaxley when he caught the danger in the air. Lord Voldemort was regarding Draco Malfoy with an intense, electric gaze. The whole room must have felt the shift in their master's attitude. Bellatrix's cackles turned to shrieks, Selwyn and Rowle's guffaws grew frenzied, and the drinking song escalated from a dirge to a shouting contest. Draco's hackles rose at the rising energy in the room.

"I had thought one of you would have asked by now," spoke Lord Voldemort, cutting clearly over the uproar. His voice neither loud nor commanding, and yet, all conversation snuffed out. Travers and Goyle's song ended on an unresolved note, leaving an uneasy expectation hanging in the room.

"What are we celebrating? It occurs to me that we have not yet acknowledged the object of our soiree," smirked Voldemort, rising at the head of the table. Confused glances passed between Death Eaters. Narcissa Malfoy's hand grasped Draco's wrist. He stiffened. The air had become tight.

"I must extend my deepest congratulations to… Draco. I do believe today is your… birthday."

Amycus and Alecto snorted. Yaxley gave a little grunt of surprise. All eyes were trained on Draco. Only after the silence pressed down upon him did Draco drag his gaze towards Voldemort.

"Thank you, sir," Draco said warily. Snape wondered if this was the first bit of direct conversation that had passed between Voldemort and the boy. The Dark Lord certainly had not paid Draco much attention before.

"And who has brought gifts?" Voldemort looked around, almost gleefully hopeful at his followers. The silence reigned as his Death Eaters ducked their heads.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort extended a long-fingered hand to her, and Bellatrix's entire body seemed to incline towards him. "Have you no trinket for your nephew?" Bellatrix made a sputtering sound, starting an excuse, but Voldemort cut her off. "No matter. Any other gift pales in comparison to that which is imparted from mother to son… Narcissa? I daresay you have something for the boy? I believe presents are in order on this happy day."

White shown around the irises of Narcissa's eyes, but her gaze was steady and her voice unwavering. "Yes, my lord, I do have something for Draco."

"Well," Voldemort pressured, "on with it."

Narcissa spared a moment to glance at the portrait of Lucius, and Snape realized that they were about to witness a scene Narcissa had hoped would have been a private and important moment. It had never occurred to her that the Dark Lord would take notice of her son's birthday. Nevertheless, Narcissa produced from inside her sleeve a black lacquered box with silver inlay and handed it to her son. Draco took the box wordlessly and set it on the table before him. His fingers followed the curve of the box's lid then popped the clasp with a sound that echoed around the dining hall. Upon drawing open the lid, there, nestled on a bed of green silk lay a heavy silver pocket watch with a cover embossed with the phrase _Sanctimonia Vincent Semper_.

"Ahh," sighed Voldemort, "a watch. How fitting. Draco has come of age." A nervous tittering circled the room. Draco closed his fist on the watch and held it in his lap, his eyes resuming their intense gaze at his plate. "Tonight does not seem a festive enough affair for such a notable event. And so unfortunate that your father could not be in attendance." The laughter grew stronger and crueler.

"I would hazard… that a gift from The Dark Lord would elevate the occasion. Draco?"

The boy raised his eyes, not sure if this was an invitation to speak. He hesitated. His adam's apple working jerkily in his throat as if he was trying to swallow but his mouth had gone dry.

"Join me." Voldemort's sinisterly easy air had lifted, and the gaze that he leveled at Draco brooked no kind of appeal or hesitation. Without a glance at his mother, Draco hurried to the front of the room. He gave an awkward bow, but caught himself before completing it, obviously not sure of what decorum he was expected to use.

"My gift is one that many witches and wizards, some even at this very table would count the most valuable honor ever bestowed upon them. And I have decided it is time to pass the mantle from father to son. You are the new head of household. Your mother must be so pleased. Narcissa, aren't you pleased?"

Draco dared to glance at his mother. His eyes were a battlefield of confusion and fear. Narcissa nodded bracingly at Draco, but no smile touched her lips as she gave a calculated response to her master, "pleased and proud, my lord."

"Proud!" The Dark Lord crowed, "I am glad to hear it. Watch and be proud. Draco, kneel." Draco knelt as one being led to the executioner's block.

"Extend your left arm." Only in that moment did Draco understand what was to occur. He extended his arm as if in a trance, his hand still gripping the watch his parents had given him. Voldemort seized his wrist and pried the fingers open to get a look at the gift. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, then jerked Draco's hand so that his robes fell back and the tender inside of the boy's forearm was exposed to the gathered crowd.

Voldemort drew his wand and with the other hand smoothed back Draco's sleeve almost lovingly, then slapped the skin sharply with his open palm, bringing a bright blush of blood to the surface. Draco hardened under the pain instead of flinching away.

"Severus," commanded Voldemort, not taking his eyes off the boy. Snape rose, fetching an embroidered towel from a side table and placed it at Draco's knees. Draco's teeth were bared in a grimace as Snape passed him. Even in this moment, Snape felt a newfound resentment flowing from Draco directed toward him.

"Draco Malfoy," intoned Voldemort, never taking his eyes from Draco. "Do you swear to take me as your one and only master? To uphold the ideals of the Knights of Walpurgis? To seek purity above all else?" Voldemort's wand crawled across Draco's skin.

Draco exhaled and met the Dark Lord's gaze, then said clearly. "I will."

"And do you swear to answer to my bidding? Put no man, beast, or ideal before our new order? Take me as your divinity?" Dark energy filled the dining hall in crackling bursts of power. Squalls of wind had picked up though no windows were open. Voldemort's wand traveled inexorably along its path.

"I do." At Draco's words, the fireplace burst into flame, fanned by the unnatural gale howling around the room. The table at which the Death Eaters sat started to tremble and bounce.

"And will you carry out my bidding to the greater good of all wizardkind?" screamed Voldemort.

"My lord, I shall!" At these words, the wind died, the fire retreated, and the table steadied. The Death Eaters cheered, raising glasses, and toasting the newest in their ranks.

"It is done then. Behold!" Voldemort dragged Draco to his feet by his left arm, raising it so all could see, "This wizard, of age, comes to me willingly to pledge his wand to his master. I christen thee with the mark of your loyalty." Voldemort's wand punctured a spot in the middle of Draco's forearm, as he pronounced, " _Protea Morsmordris."_

From the tip of Voldemort's wand, a snake head seemed to bite its way into Draco's flesh, making a painstakingly slow circuit on his arm, following the path Voldemort's wand had forged. Draco's could not tear his eyes away from his arm, held aloft by Lord Voldemort. The mark began to bleed. The snake's jaws worked endlessly with no heed to its host's distress. Draco began to struggle. Fangs tore through skin and yet were also a part of skin. Draco dropped to both knees, clawing at his arm. Voldemort had released him.

The blood began to pool onto the towel at Draco's feet. The serpent, its trail now cut, was emblazoned on Draco's flesh, but that was not the end of it. His skin rippled and boiled, turning a deadly black. The death's head, was swimming into being, and from Draco's expression, it was excruciatingly painful. As the skull burned brighter, the other Death Eater's Dark Marks became painful and hot, though Draco's suffering was enormous.

"And your first task, as a Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, will be to bring glory back to your disgraced family." Draco's only reply was to scream in torture, blood streaming from his wound.

Voldemort only smiled, then raised his wand, as if conducting this symphony of pain. The Death Eaters raised their arms in a salute as Draco collapsed to the floor, howling in agony. Narcissa had jumped to her feet in anguish for Draco, but Bellatrix had a hand around her waist, restraining her. Bellatrix screeched her ecstasy to the ceiling, and her cries mingled with Draco's wails and Voldemort's laughter.

Voldemort flicked his wand and the towel now soaked in Draco's blood vanished. "Narcissa, Draco. A word." Voldemort drifted to an office attached to the drawing room. Narcissa dashed forwards to assist her whimpering son to follow the Dark Lord.

Snape paused to collect himself outside of the door to the drawing hall. That was weeks ago. He brought his mind back to the present, and the news he must deliver.

… _hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle."_

* * *

A few notes:

The timeline's a bit off. The Battle of The Department of Mysteries occurs on June 18th, but I'll admit, I started thinking of this story before I researched the timeline, and was going by the American school year that ends anywhere from the middle of May to beginning of June, so in that estimation, the encounter at the ministries could have happened in May, and Lucius been in Azkaban for a few weeks before Draco's 17th birthday rolled around on June 5th. I just loved the touch that it was Draco's birthday, that I left it. So the timeline's a bit bent, but don't hold that against me.

Draco feels that Snape has usurped his father's place, and this feeling informs all of HBP as Draco constantly turns away Snape's offers of assistance. That informed the grimace that passed between them.

Lord Voldemort is about to assign Draco the task of killing Albus Dumbledore when he calls Narcissa and Draco into the office (which in my head used to be Lucius's, to play on the father/son imagery of Voldemort/Draco).

-Cat


	2. 7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Peacock

**7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Raczidian the Peacock  
** Catty Engles

 _The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men's footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again, pointing it over his companion's head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge._

" _He always did himself well, Lucius._ Peacocks _…" Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort._

* * *

Raczidian the Peacock belonged to Abraxus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's father and Draco Malfoy's grandfather. The peacock was as foul tempered and as vicious as his master, and in a fashion suiting his disposition, Raczidian came in to Abraxus's possession through trickery and malice.

This particular peacock, however, was more than just a rare, expensive, majestic bird. It had a history that was entrenched in dark magic, which, of course, made Abraxus even more affectionately fond of it.

The wizard smuggled the peacock away from a muggle actress's estate in the south of London after hearing about its existence through his regular dose of gossip from his Ministry of Magic connections.

Apparently, the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was alerted to the existence of an unnaturally behaving peacock that was a pure, pearly white.

A wizard, Alfred Brimble of Kingston, reported the incident, swearing that he saw the peacock walk through a garden wall as Alfred was on a stroll home after a trip to a neighbors. Upon sighting Alfred, the bird fiercely pursue him down the main thoroughfare of town while floating six inches off the ground and screaming horribly until Brimble overturned a garbage bin in the peacock's path and mice went scurrying over the path—only then did the peacock give a mighty screech and wheel away.

The Spirit and the Beast division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures argued hotly over whose jurisdiction the rogue peacock fell under. The Beast Division strongly affirmed that a floating, semi-solid being was obviously a ghost, and the Spirit Division stated plainly that there has never been a known existence of any type of animal leaving behind a ghostly imprint of themselves. What unfinished business might a peacock have on the earthly plains?

Obliviators were eventually dispatched under joint care of the Beast and Spirit Divisions to deal with the case, but the peacock was found to be thoroughly ordinary, and no other witnesses to the event were ever found. As far as the Ministry was concerned, that was that.

Abraxus Malfoy heard all, but understood much more than those around him.

As it turns out, Abraxus Malfoy, was a student of genealogy, as many pure-blood witches and wizards are, since they take such pride in their ancestry. In Abraxus's research, he had learned that Alfred Brimble was a direct descendent of Eliana Brimble, a witch famous for her beauty and good-nature, and desired by the dark wizard Raczidian.

Abraxus Malfoy had certain suspicions about the peacock, and so, lured the muggles who owned him away from their home with an invitation to a grand soiree at a location that would lead their car down a road crowded with devil's snare and a swamp he had conjured (perhaps a precursor to the Portable Swamps of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fame).

Once alone in the estate, Abraxus tested his theory by introducing the peacock to a mouse—the bird reacted so violently, pecking at it furiously before displaying the behavior Alfred Brimble had stated of moving at an alarming speed while hovering six inches off of the ground that Abraxus knew his suspicions were confirmed. He caught the bird and transported it to his home, Malfoy Manor.

While this behavior may be perceived as strange, even deranged. Abraxus Malfway was perfectly sane in his magically logical explanation. Abraxus had hypothesized that this peacock was the remnant of the dark wizard, Raczidian who had lived in a dark forest many centuries ago and desired the beautiful Eliana Brimble, Alfred Brimble's ancestor.

When her family denied him her hand, Raczidian set Dementors upon the town. The entire village fought back with their assorted Patronuses. The battle turned in Raczidian's favor. It seemed that the Dementors would overwhelm the villager's effort until a small boy named Illyius, who had been told to sit out of the fighting, joined the fray. His Patronus was a diminutive mouse, but it shone so brightly and pure that it turned the tides against the Dementors and won the battle.

In the end, Illyius and Eliana were wed and Raczidian had perished when he tried to fight back with his own Patronus. He had forgotten that only wizards who are pure of heart may cast a Patronus, and when he tried the spell, it backfired, producing maggots instead which consumed him.

This is where the common story ends for most wizarding mothers and fathers who tell cautionary tales to their offspring, but Abraxus had gone further.

The one fact of this story that was lost to history, that Abraxus had uncovered with his own patient research… is that some of the villagers swore, in the fleeting moment before turning to flesh-eating maggots, the unformed Patronus of Raczidian took the shape of… a peacock.

This peacock that was now in Abraxus's possession was the remnant of Raczidian's spirit. Abraxus was sure of it, though he was not sure of how this phenomenon had come to be.

Abraxus, evil though he was, had no knowledge of the existence of horcruxes (as his son after him was similarly ignorant, hence Lucius Malfoy's treatment of Riddle's Diary). It is possible the peacock is a horcrux. It is possible it is an extension of the curse of the Patronus that resulted in Raczidian. It is possible that it is part ghost, part peacock, part backfired magical experiment gone wrong. The exact magical explanation will never be discovered, but Abraxus was right: the remains of Raczidian exist within the hateful bird.

Abraxus adored the him, and the peacock felt the same about Abraxus. Raczidian would follow the wizard everywhere, and Abraxus dotingly cared for it. It may have been the only thing Abraxus ever truly loved. Abraxus brought more peacocks on to his property to keep Raczidian company, sparking a new Malfoy tradition. But while these birds came and went with old age, Raczidian edured. He even outlived Abraxus.

Raczidian was the only living creature allowed by Abraxus's deathbed when he was suffering from dragon pox. The bird hissed at anyone that tried to come near, including Lucius. Abraxus found this enormously amusing.

Lucius remembers many times when Abraxus would set the peacock on him if Lucius had been caught misbehaving. He has scars on his ears that would not be healed by magic, reminders of Raczidian's ferocious attacks. This is one of the reasons why Lucius Malfoy always wears his hair long. If ever asked about his scars, Lucius would tell a harrowing tale of a run in with a cockatrice in Spain.

Even after Abraxus's death, the peacock has lingered at the Malfoy's estate, prowling the grave of his former master and keeping watch over the iron gates that guard Malfoy Manor, attacking those who might wish to do the Malfoys harm in memory of his former owner, but he couldn't resist still nipping at Lucius and Draco any chance he could get.

Presently, Raczidian has taken an immense liking to Narcissa Malfoy who feeds him chopped up mice, his favorite snack, the bloodier the better.

Draco Malfoy has always been terrified of the bird. Its shrieks are inhuman—the stuff of nightmares. As a young 3rd year, in Remus Lupin's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Draco Malfoy's boggart took the shape of this peacock from his childhood, earning him much ribbing and teasing from his fellow classmates.

If Draco met a boggart later in his life, it assuredly would take on a more fearsome form, as Draco has met formidable evil and fear in his time after 3rd year, but in those years it was Raczidian the Peacock that struck fear into young Draco Malfoy's not-so-tender heart.

* * *

A few story notes:

When did this happen? I postulate sometime in the 1930s Abraxus obtained Raczidian. I only had to make sure it was after 1811 when the The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures split into three divisions. Raczidian's story has no date attached to it, but I imagine it is in a time 1700 or earlier with the allusions to "villages" and names like "Ilyius." Though, with Queen Rowling, you should never depend firmly on a name to date anything.

What is Draco Malfoy's boggart? Nobody knows. I made that up, and I rather like it too.

Some Dark Wizards can cast Patronuses! Yes, we see both Severus Snape and Dolores Umbridge casting Patronuses. Well, Snape seems to be redeemed by his love for Lily, and I'm not even going to touch on the argument that he may not be ask dark as we all presume—that's another story. Umbridge however… You must be purely happy to cast a Patronus, and I guess Dolores must be so purely happy in the interrogation chambers that a Patronus charm is within her reach, though her idea of happy is sickening. I've always held that Umbridge never really knew or cared whether or not Voldemort was back in power… as long as she herself had power over what she deemed to be "rule-breakers." So maybe she's not a dark wizard, she's just majorly messed up in the head.

-Cat


	3. 7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Sisters Black

**7th, Dark Lord Ascending: Sisters Black  
** Catty Engles

" _My Lord," said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, "it is an honor to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."_

 _She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness._

" _No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."_

 _Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight._

" _My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"_

" _No higher pleasure… even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"_

 _She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused._

" _I don't know what you mean, my Lord."_

" _I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."_

 _There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks […]_

" _She is no niece of ours, my Lord," Bellatrix cried over the outpouring of mirth. "We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."_

" _What say you, Draco?" asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?"_

 _The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother's eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall._

* * *

"Cissy, no, figure it out yourself," Andromeda snapped.

"But why?" Narcissa whined, flopping back on the lawn near the lake dramatically, throwing her wand arm over her eyes to shield them from the springtime sun. "You're so good at charmwork, and I just can't get the hang of the cheering spell, and Professor Flitwick will humiliate me again, and if you only-"

"Why you're afraid of that half-breed, I'll never know," Andromeda demurred, returning to her letter. "You're just a third year, and yet still, he only comes up to your waist."

Narcissa sat back up, eyes blazing, "I'm not afraid," she barked.

"You are, and it's embarrassing, now let me write," Andromeda scolded without lifting her eyes.

"I'm NOT," shouted Narcissa throwing a sharp little fist into her sister's shoulder. Andromeda shrieked and grabbed a handful of Narcissa's hair by her temple, yanking hard to the side.

"Ow, OW, stop it, 'Dromeda!" Narcissa pled, her head pitched painfully sideways and her hands flapping against her sister's grip.

Andromeda did not let go, her voice low and threatening, but a cheery smile on her face. "At just this moment, I'm writing to our beloved mother about how wonderfully the three of us are getting along during our time away from her, and how Bella and I are both looking after our dear, _sweet_ little sister. I would sincerely like to write mother and for it to be the truth one of these days. Heavens knows you or Bella don't bother to keep her informed."

"You say you're looking out for me, then why won't you help me?" Narcissa sniffed, pouting angelically. Andromeda sighed and released her.

"Narcissa, you're so irritating. If I keep helping you, you'll never learn. Besides, I know it isn't Flitwick you're worried about being embarrassed in front of, is it?" Andromeda had returned her gaze to her correspondence, but a knowing smirk was on her face.

Narcissa went pink in the face.

Andromeda knew she had hit a nerve, and continued to goad her little sister, "You don't need a cheering charm to get all loopy and doe-eyed when a certain _Lucius Malfoy_ is around, do you?"

Narcissa's mouth tightened into an unbecoming pucker and her nostrils flared. She leveled a perfectly manicured finger at her sister, menacingly.

"If you _dare_ breathe a word to mother, Andromeda Delphini Black, I swear I will-"

"You'll do what?" Andromeda put her writing down, smiling viciously. She laughed, squishing her little sister's perfect cheeks between her thumb and forefinger, "You can't even master a cheering charm! What do I have to be afraid of?"

Narcissa's cry of outrage was cut off when Andromeda pulled her into a smothering hug, whispering conspiratorially in her ear, "Oh, Cissy, I'm teasing you. The Malfoy boy is rather dashing for all of his swaggering and boasting about his father. He may even fancy you."

Narcissa wrestled herself out of Andromeda's grasp, "You think so?" She whispered back, hopefully.

"Oh, I know so," Andromeda said significantly. "He is very certainly… a great big braggart."

"Ooooh!" Narcissa yowled and swatted at her sister, her rage deflating.

After a moment of giggles, Narcissa sighed dreamily and rested her head on Andromeda's shoulder. Andromeda stroked her sister's white blonde hair absently.

"Why don't you want mother to know, Cissy?" asked Andromeda, "She'd start waltzing through the halls knowing you'd be going with the pureblood heir to the Malfoy estate."

"That's just why," Narcissa moaned. "Have you seen how she pesters Bella about Rodolphus _all the time_?"

"Well, they're betrothed, aren't they?" Andromeda said dismissively.

"Yes, but see how they act around one another?" Narcissa lamented. "They've been forced upon one another since they were toddlers, and they just… they're not…"

"Madly in love?" Andromeda supplied sarcastically.

Narcissa didn't catch the scorn in her sister's voice and agreed emphatically, "Yes, exactly!"

Narcissa heaved what she thought was a hugely romantic sigh. Andromeda rolled her eyes. "I want Lucius to at least have a chance to like me without our families pushing us together."

"I'm sure you will," said Andromeda.

"So who are you interested in, 'Dromeda?" Narcissa needled.

"Oh don't you start." Having had quite enough of her sappy sister's romanticism, Andromeda pinched her until she yelped.

Just then, a loud bang came from behind them. Andromeda and Narcissa turned to see papers flying from a small group of Hufflepuffs sitting in the shade a few yards away.

A 2nd year Hufflepuff girl with brown, bobbed hair was jumping into the air, shrieking and crying, fixated on something above her. It was an exquisite chess set now floating ten feet in the air. A high-pitched, very familiar cackle made both of the girls whirl around to see their eldest sister, Bellatrix, pointing her wand at the floating chess set.

"Look girls, I got us a toy!" Bellatrix jeered, jabbing her wand at the chess set, rocking it, making rooks and pawns fall and roll across the lawn, the little Hufflepuff scrambling to pick up the scattered pieces.

Narcissa clapped her hands together and Bellatrix smiled.

"How sweet! It's rather ornate, isn't it?" said Narcissa, beaming up at her big sister.

"Rather," Bellatrix agreed. "So ornate that it must have been in a wizarding family for generations and generations." Bellatrix crouched down to the level of the little girl, still pointing her wand at the chess set, "Was it your family, sweetie?"

The Hufflepuff girl sobbed and shouted, "My mum and dad gave it to me for my birthday! Give it back!"

Bellatrix's mouth curled into a sneer, her eyes aflame, "And how did your _Muggle_ parents get a hold of a _wizarding_ chess set, especially one like this?"

"I don't- I don't know!" sobbed the girl.

"Hey!" A barrel-chested boy with disheveled blond hair and scruffy cheeks was marching towards Bellatrix, two rabbit, red-headed boys in tow. The blond boy already had his wand drawn, pointing at Bellatrix. "Leave Marian's chess set alone."

Bellatrix didn't even bother to stand up, but, crouching, she turned to face the boy, baring her teeth in a facsimile of a smile that Andromeda and Narcissa both knew to be trouble.

"If it isn't Ted Tonks, you sorry excuse for a wizard. You mudbloods sure do stick together like pond scum. Though I would have expected better from you Prewetts."

"That's funny, I expected nothing less than this kind of behavior from pureblood elitists like you, Black," teased one of the red-heads. "You're just going to have to get to know Gideon and me better. Say, how about a nice cup of coffee down at Madam Puddifoot's this weekend? Perhaps a warm beverage would take that ugly look off your face. What do you say, Bellatrix? Fancy a cuppa?" The boy made an elaborate bow in Bellatrix's direction, waggling his eyebrows.

"You date her, Fabian, and I will disown you," gagged the other red-head, identical to the first.

"Not as quickly as her family would disown her!" Gideon roared, and both boys fell about laughing. The watching Hufflepuffs snickered appreciatively, even Marian smiled despite the situation.

Bellatrix and Andromeda leapt to their feet simultaneously. In a few strides, Andromeda had reached her sister's side, her wand aimed at the trio of boys. "You watch your mouth when you talk about my family," Andromeda spat.

The leader, Ted, leveled his wand at Andromeda, his face darkening. "Just give Marian back her chess set, we don't want trouble."

" _You_ don't want trouble, Ted, we want plenty," Gideon and Fabian's light-hearted demeanor had fled instantly as they too drew their wands.

Bellatrix crowed triumphantly, "If it's a duel you want, we accept!" She made a whipping motion with her wand, and the chess set flew backwards towards the lake. Marian screamed.

" _Arresto Momentum!"_ Bellowed Ted, stopping the gameboard in its arc before it hit the water. He pitched the chess set back to shore, rather sloppily, but it seemed to be unharmed and Marian went streaking after it.

"Pretty good, eh?" Ted said, looking pleased with himself.

"Sure, Ted," Gideon and Fabian said simultaneously.

"I dunno, 'Dromeda looked pretty impressed," Ted said, grinning at Andromeda cheekily.

"You wish," Andromeda bristled.

"Looks like it'll be a double date at Madam Puddifoot's!" jeered Gideon.

"Ted! It's Ogg! Coming this way!" shouted a skinny 4th year Hufflepuff. Ted and the twins quickly dropped their wands, secreting them in their robes.

Andromeda copied them, hissing at Bellatrix who still hadn't lowered her wand, "Put that away- you're inches from getting expelled!"

Grudgingly, Bellatrix complied, never taking her eyes off the smirking twins. Ogg, the lumbering gamekeeper stomped over to the confrontation.

A huge man of few words, Ogg let his presence do the talking. "Get," grunted Ogg, as way of dismissal, and the Hufflepuffs scattered, Marian carrying her chess set. Narcissa was suddenly at Andromeda's side, clutching her robes.

"I said… _get_ ," Ogg repeated ominously, planting a shovel in the ground he had carried with him right in the line of sight between Ted and Bellatrix. With a snarl, Bellatrix whirled away, stalking haughtily towards the castle. Narcissa fled after her. Andromeda made to follow her sisters.

"You just let me know about that coffee, 'Dromeda. Open invitation," said Ted Tonks, flashing a devil-may-care grin at her.

"It's _Andromeda_ ," she said between clenched teeth.

Ted winked, and Andromeda stopped short.

"Well, it's Ted, and you can call me that anytime. Let me know about that coffee. I think you'd enjoy getting to know me," Ted said, smiling infuriatingly.

She turned away as she felt a traitorous blush rise to her cheeks. Fabian and Gideon said something clever as she hurried to catch up with her sisters, but she didn't hear it, all she heard was Ted Tonks' carefree, hearty laughter. She turned a corner, heading towards the Slytherin common room, her mind in a blur, when she was slapped across the face.

Andromeda stumbled back a step, and Narcissa stifled a scream, both of her hands covering her mouth, staring wide-eyed at her eldest sister, her palm still raised. Bellatrix was there in front of Andromeda, spitting mad.

"Wha-?" managed Andromeda before Bellatrix slapped her again.

"That shameful display! He's _muggle-born_ , Andromeda. How dare you let him talk to you like that? You're a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. How can you spit on your heritage, your family, your _sisters_ like that?"

"I didn't-" started Andromeda, but Bellatrix cut her off.

"I see anything, _anything_ at all like that again, and I will cut off your hair in your sleep and give it to Kreacher to wear as a wig," promised Bellatrix. With one last glare, Bellatrix spun on her heel and stormed away, "Come on, Cissy," she demanded. And Narcissa scurried off in her wake, shooting a frightened and confused look back at Andromeda, who stood in the hallway with a hand on her cheek.

* * *

 _31 years later_

It was late when Andromeda finally got Teddy to bed. His constant changing features still hadn't settled into what Andromeda could tell would be a persistent appearance, but this wasn't her first time raising a metamorphmagus. Given how rare they were, she believed that she may be the most knowledgeable, still living witch on the subject. Maybe she should write a book.

To tire him out she made faces at Teddy that he would copy like a chameleon, then she gave him his favorite duckling doll to snuggle while falling asleep, and watched as his little feet became webbed, his hands became feathered, and his cute button nose grew a suggestion of a beak as he slipped off into dreamland.

Exhausted, Andromeda retreated to the kitchen for some much needed nettle wine.

She spent a few moments cleaning the kitchen and living areas of her house even thought it was a redundant practice now that she lived alone. The place was impeccable, the messy ones had always been Ted and Nymphadora.

It had been a few weeks since she had seen any from the Order, though Molly Weasley had asked her around to dinner a few times that week. She was fond of Molly, but not of the clutter and chaos of The Burrow. In her middle age, she got headaches more often, and could not stand the constant chatter and messiness about her without developing an intense migraine.

She sank into her armchair by the shrinking fire, nursing the bottle of wine. There, above the mantle, hung a picture of the family she had lost. Ted, Dora, and herself bundled up in fall weather clothes, wrapped up in a threeway hug. She found the pose a tad saccharine, but Ted and Dora had loved that picture, so she kept it. Every day she missed her strong, warm husband, and bouncy, clumsy girl more, not less.

There was a letter on the end table from Harry that she had neglected to open. It had arrived earlier that day attached to a long package that had taken three owls to deliver. She hadn't the energy to deal with the latest shenanigans from her grandson's godfather, but she supposed she would have to open it sooner or later. She took another sip of wine to stave off the gathering headache.

 _Andromeda,_

 _Hope you're well. How is the garden coming? Ginny and I are fine. I've been on some difficult cases at the Ministry, so I haven't been home half as often as I'd like, but during Quidditch season, Ginny's rarely there at all, so it evens out. Will see her on the pitch soon, though!_

 _Holyhead Harpies are going to the semi-finals if they beat the Kenmare Kestrals! I believe there's a pretty big turnout coming to this match, and I've got plenty of spots available, even with Hagrid taking up four seats on his own. There's always a place for you and Teddy in our box. I finally got Bagman to change it to Dumbledore's Box instead of naming it after me. Bit embarrassing, that._

 _How's Teddy? Favorite animal still a duck? Has he been to see Victoire again? I know 2 years is far apart in age, for now, but Bill said she certainly enjoyed poking at him when he was over this weekend. I hope to come around sometime next week for a while. Say, Wednesday?_

 _Speaking of Quidditch though, I got Teddy a little something. Don't worry, it's not a real racing broom, it only goes about a foot off the floor. My godfather got one just like it for me when I was young. Hope he enjoys it, maybe I'll show him the basics on Wednesday._

 _Til then,_

 _Harry_

A broom. Of course. Andromeda sighed, exasperatedly. She knew Harry tried, but he was only 20 himself, barely of age, working himself to the bone, and constantly under pressure from the Ministry to take on highly visible projects. He was more of a big brother than a father to Teddy. When had he ever offered to make dinner when he came over? Or actually scolded Teddy for doing something naughty?

Andromeda sighed again. She was being unfair. She could just imagine Ted admonishing her, tweaking her nose, and telling her that Harry meant well. He'd grow into the whole godfather thing, but he was still a kid himself at the moment.

But, oh, how Andromeda wished she didn't have to do this on her own. She reached for some knitting, and was about to lose herself in thoughts of the life that could have been, when a sleek black owl swooped through her window and deposited a small scroll tied with a neat, alabaster ribbon on her lap.

 _I'm coming over._

 _-Cissy_

Andromeda stared at the note in her hand for a good minute, exchanged a nonplussed look with the owl, read it ten more times again, glanced at the back of the note, glanced at the clock (9:23pm), then topped off her wine and drank deeply.

A small pop sounded from outside Andromeda's front door. Andromeda jumped to her feet as if scalded. She had not truly believed Narcissa was planning to come. A faint tapping came from the front door. Andromeda whipped off her apron, shoved it under the seat cushion of her armchair, made a dash at her hair in the mirror besides the front door, then took a deep breath and glided to the entrance hall.

She opened the door hesitantly. It was her little sister, Narcissa, dressed elegantly in a silvery, clingy, backless evening gown made of silk that flowed like water. Her neck and ears dripped jewels and her sleek flaxen hair was knotted in a stylish coif at the base of her graceful head. Andromeda was suddenly very away of her house slippers and cardigan.

"Do you have any wine?" said Narcissa a little louder than necessary and stumbled inside. The illusion was broken.

Andromeda conjured another goblet, and filled it to the brim with nettle wine, topping herself off, and raising her glass. Narcissa clinked, winked, and drank deeply.

"I could get in _sooooo_ much trouble if anyone knew I was here," hiccupped Narcissa conspiratorially, slumping down into a high-backed chair in the kitchen, missing it at first and sending the chair scraping into the counter.

"You will be in double trouble if you don't keep it down," snapped Andromeda. It was odd how easily it felt to scold her little sister, even though they hadn't spoken for decades.

"Oh, I've been keeping it down all evening," Narcissa whined. "Lucius is such a blabber-mouth, I can't get a word in edgewise. And it's all his family and friends anyway. I simply can't stand any of the members of the _Witch Way Neighborhood Watch_. I mean, of course, I'm chairwoman, but still, they're so _tiresome_."

"You've been at a party?" Andromeda couldn't quite settle in to the conversation. It seemed so stilted. They were both ignoring a very, very large hippogriff in the room.

"A ball, yes. My son… Draco," Narcissa clarified, shooting Andromeda a glance as if questioning whether or not she knew she had a son.

"Yes, Draco," Andromeda confirmed. She knew plenty about Draco.

"Well, Draco's engaged!" babbled, Narcissa, acting the perfect preening mother, "to a beautiful young woman, Astoria Greengrass, you've heard of her? Cronos and Rhea's younger daughter," said Narcissa.

There was a moment of expectant silence. Andromeda took a sip of wine. Narcissa tapped a foot against her chair.

"Congratulations," dead-panned Andromeda.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, finally embarrassed.

Another long silence threatened to engulf Andromeda's immaculate kitchen. The hippogriff in the room grew larger. The passage of time between them, the banishment from the Black family, the war, Narcissa's allegiances, her last biting words to Andromeda about Ted's parentage and upbringing, the long, long time since they had ever spoken to one another. _Well, no time like the present._ Andromeda drew herself up, steeling herself against the unpleasant conversation that was about to take place, "Narcissa, it's been-"

"You're invited," Narcissa said wildly, cutting Andromeda off before she could start.

"To… to the ball?"

"The wedding. You're invited to the wedding. Draco wanted to invite you."

The silence that had threatened before, landed firmly now. Both sisters were stunned momentarily. Then, unintentionally, at the same time, raised their glasses again and drank deeply.

"You must let Draco know how flattered I am," said Andromeda carefully. "He's certainly… grown up."

Narcissa looked down at her glass, biting back the unbidden anger that showed in her face. "He certainly has. Astoria and he both have quite different… views than Lucius and me. But the new generation always does, do they not? He's been asking about you, and he's never done that before," Narcissa said, looking confused.

Andromeda understood perfectly. When she had married Ted, Andromeda had never once thought that Narcissa would understand. Narcissa was swayed by power, in love with the idea of being loved, and would always strive to make her parents happy. Andromeda had always been a dutiful, loving daughter, but when Ted came along, that all went out the window.

This invitation from Draco was rocking Narcissa's carefully choreographed world, and her son's changing views were getting to her. But she loved her son fanatically and was trying to understand. The wall between the sisters that had been nurtured on both sides for decades just might have a crack in it, and Draco was perhaps the only person who could have put it there.

But it was all coming too little, too late.

"It's good to see you, Cissy. You certainly haven't changed much," Andromeda cooed, "you used to wear clothes much too old for you, now they're much too young."

Narcissa looked scandalized. "Well what about you, 'Dromeda? Are you already in your dressing gown, at this time of night? Shameful."

"I don't have a nanny to raise my boy like you did, Cissy. Some of us enjoy working for a living."

Narcissa tutted, despite herself, the tension in the room had relaxed a little. They were sniping at each other as they had done as girls.

After a slight pause, Narcissa ventured, "The boy? Edward? I got the birth announcement."

"We call him Teddy. After his father," Andromeda stated. Narcissa swallowed at the mention of Ted, but held her ground.

"He's two now. Would you like to see him?" Andromeda asked. Narcissa shook her head fiercely, jeweled earrings flashing in the dim light trickling through the kitchen windows, sending patterns over the walls.

Andromeda's heart fell. She had pushed Narcissa too far. Maybe some things were irreparable.

"Next time," Narcissa stuttered, trying to salvage the moment, but rising to her feet.

"Next time," Andromeda said, quite unsure whether or not there would be a next time. She walked her sister to the door. "Tell Draco thank you, and that I'll think about it. But regardless of whether or not I'm there, there will be a big, big present from Aunt Andromeda."

Narcissa smiled absently, but her eye had been caught by a portrait over the fireplace of the smiling family of three. Andromeda regarded it as well. They both knew that they were thinking of the third Black sister. The one they had lost. Maybe the one they had lost even before she died.

"Bella… she…" Narcissa started, nodding towards the picture, but not taking her eyes from the giggling, happy girl with bubblegum hair. Andromeda had engulfed a chortling Nymphadora in a suffocating hug, kissing her hair and temple.

"Yes," confirmed Andromeda numbly. She knew what Narcissa was asking. Bellatrix, their sister had killed her beautiful, wild daughter, Bellatrix's niece, during the Battle of Hogwarts and had robbed Andromeda of her purpose for living.

Narcissa caught the hollowness in her voice. For the first time that night, Andromeda's younger sister didn't seem nervous or uncomfortable. She seemed infinitely sad. Narcissa and Andromeda considered each other. Andromeda's chin had lifted, her jaw was set, and there was a haughty look in her eyes. Narcissa was reminded of how similar Bellatrix and Andromeda had always looked, and how different she was from the two. The wall that had been between them all these years was still there, and it wasn't coming down. Too much had happened.

Narcissa embraced Andromeda sweetly, kissed her cheek, lingered but for a moment, and then was gone, apparating from the front stoop. Andromeda closed the door and went back to her knitting by the fire. She did not cry.

* * *

Andromeda did not go to Draco's wedding. She did, however, send an embarrassingly large gift. She did not see her sister again in her home, but anonymous gifts would turn up every so often out of the blue for Teddy. She wasn't sure if it was Draco or Narcissa's doing. She liked to think it was both.

Narcissa never met Teddy personally, but Draco did. Teddy was unsure and suspicious of his cousin, so the visits never lasted long. Draco wasn't great with children, and Harry and Ron had filled Teddy's head with plenty of prejudice toward him, a fact Andromeda greatly resented. Draco's visits dropped off as Teddy approached Hogwarts age, and even though they didn't go swimmingly, Andromeda appreciated them greatly.

Slytherins were never much for great shows of emotions, and despite everything, Andromeda was still a Slytherin. She did, however, write that book on raising metamorphamaguses which gained moderate success, and organized a wizarding playschool that she operated out of her home. She was known as a strict disciplinarian and a steadfastly reliable baby-sitter. No one could compare to her gardening prowess. She loved Teddy, and he loved her, but Andromeda led a solitary life apart from her quiet social calendar. If you asked her in her later days, if she was happy, she would respond that she was as happy as she was capable of being.

* * *

A few notes about this drabble.

It started with my trying to figure out a situation in which Draco would babysit Teddy. Ultimately, those ideas weren't half as interesting than delving into the relationships between Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, which birthed this story.

Harry and his friends aren't looked upon in the nicest of views in this story. I believe that is Andromeda's view, though. Ted and Tonks really softened her. Losing them so cruelly, she would revert to her Slytherin-ish ways.

I assigned Andromeda's middle name to be Delphini, it comes from a constellation, just like many of the other Black names.

I also chose Astoria Greengrass's parents names, Cronos and Rhea, following the Greengrass's naming traditions of naming after Greek Titans and characters.

If you read J.K. Rowling's drabble about Draco on Pottermore, his change of heart after the war is real, but Rowling says it strains his relationship with his parents which is why I thought it was important to keep Narcissa from totally reconciling with her sister. It's obvious they are very different and have grown apart, but there's still some regret there.


	4. 7th, In Memorium: Healing Magic

**7th, In Memorium: Healing Magic  
** Catty Engles

 _"It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond beliefe that he still had four days left of being unable to perform magic... but he had to admit to himself that this jagged cut in his finger would have defeated him. He had never learned how to repair wounds, and now he came to think of it - particularly in light of his immediate plans- this seemed a serious flaw in his magical education. Making a mental note to ask Hermione how it was done, he used a large wad of toilet paper to mop up as much of the tea as he could, before returning to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him."_

* * *

"Ta-ra-ra-BOOM-de-ay, ta-ra-ra-BOOM-de-ay," floated out of the kitchen doorway as Kreacher busied himself making lunch, steak and kidney pie by the smell of it. The change in Kreacher's demeanor after the apprehension of Mundungus Fletcher had made Number 12 Grimmauld Place almost homey.

Ron and Hermione worked quietly near each other in the drawing room. Ron was on the floor pouring over a large pile of parchment. A few pieces had been spellotaped together. Scrolls were haphazardly secured in the unrolled position with paperweights like a lamp in the shape of a griffin's claw and a small bronze trophy for "Kelpie Dressage – 1st Place." Ron had a memo pad on which he was scratching notes, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and his brow furrowed.

Hermione had commandeered the coffee table, two side tables, and the couch. They were all crowded with a wide array of equipment. She perched on an overstuffed armchair, her lips moving silently as she took the itinerary of her territory. Every three days or so, Hermione decided to repack her beaded bag, and today was such a day.

It had become a common occurrence that Hermione would dash at her bag unexpectedly over tea, breakfast, even once in the middle of the night, thoroughly frightening Ron and Harry. Hermione's shriek from her bedroom that night had been because she thought she hadn't brought _Break with a Banshee_.

"I'd been debating taking it, you know," Hermione said, breathlessly, her hair even wilder than usual, when Harry and Ron stumbled into her room, wands drawn, at 1am. "Lockhart wrote the book, but there's actually a few useful tidbits in here, and I hadn't finished reading it yet. I didn't forget it," she said apologetically, and the boys slumped back to their beds.

Just now, Hermione was trying to find an accurate pile in which to categorize the offending book. She had originally organized her books alphabetically, but had just this morning decided to _first_ sort by genre and _then_ by title.

Momentarily flummoxed, she looked over at Ron who was utterly absorbed in his task. He hadn't looked up for the better part of an hour. Hermione couldn't think of a time that he had worked this diligently over any of his homework for the past six years. She smiled proudly. He was making a map of the Ministry from what he could piece together from the trio's few visits, years of his father's dinner conversations, and what the three had picked up while staking out the arriving witches and wizards for the past few weeks.

She pondered interrupting him to ask about his progress, but he was so intensely focused, she couldn't stand to break his concentration. Hermione gazed at him until she felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks, then quickly returned to organizing her small library. You would only have seen it if you were looking closely, but just as Hermione turned back to her task, you could might have caught a ghost of a smirk on Ron's face.

Just then, the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place opened quickly, and a soft _yes!_ was swallowed by a gagging sound from the entrance hall. The tongue-tie curse and the chill wind of the Dumbledore dust-ghost had almost become a welcome sound as it meant one of the trio had returned from stakeout duty. "I didn't kill you!" whooped Harry, apparently too gleeful to let the spectre get his spirits down.

"The Chosen One returns," Ron said with a grin. Hermione laughed appreciatively, and his grin widened.

Harry Potter himself slid around the corner, holding onto the crenellated doorframe to make the turn.

"Landed right smack on the front stoop this time. Two feet planted. Gold metal dismount," he said excitedly to Ron and Hermione as he dashed to the window and pulled back the curtain cautiously. Two men sat on the bench outside looking very bored, one was in the process of rolling a cigarette.

"Ha! Didn't see a thing. I'm getting good at this." It had become a bit of a game between the three of them to try to make sure they weren't seen as they apparated back from stakeout duty. It was a game with potentially fatal consequences, but the trio were quickly developing a robust graveyard humor. It was the only way to keep their sanity.

Ron stuck up his hand for a high five, not taking his eyes off the constellation of parchment. "Good on you, mate," he said approvingly.

Harry high-fived him hard, spinning to land squarely in the only unoccupied seat left in the room, throwing a leg over the wing-backed chair's armrest and taking out his wand in one smooth movement. He shot off golden sparks in celebration.

Hermione giggled and Ron snorted. Just then, Kreacher bustled into the room carrying biscuits and tea. "Welcome home, Master Harry," greeted the house elf, happily.

"Hiya, Kreacher," Harry said warmly, now concentrating on making firework like explosions in various colors from his wand. Kreacher delivered Harry's favorite tea—Early Grey directly to his hand accompanied by a plate of biscuits, and Ron's spicy orange herbal was set right by his knee.

Hermione's chamomile was abandoned on a small unoccupied part of an endtable as if by accident. Kreacher did not acknowledge Hermione, as usual, and the tea was at the farthest corner from her as possible. Before Hermione could thank him like she always tried to, he scampered back to the kitchen, obviously trying to avoid talking to her.

Hermione sighed, getting up to retrieve her cup. Sadly, she noticed Kreacher had purposefully not put the teabag into the tea before filling it with hot water. She frowned slightly, looking up at Harry who was watching her.

"I can call him back, tell him to try it again," he said warily. Hermione knew both boys were never sure quite how she would react to anything that had to do with house elf labor, and she could see the apprehension in Harry's face now.

"No, no," said Hermione, "it's fine. Thank you though, Harry." Harry relaxed and popped a whole jammie dodger in his mouth, chewing appreciatively.

"What's that?" said Ron, not having followed the conversation. As he turned to look at Hermione, he knocked his unnoticed and scalding hot tea all over himself. He yelped, even as he dived for the parchment, scooping them up out of harm's way.

Harry leapt off the armchair to help Ron gather up the notes as Hermione directed her wand at the spilled tea, siphoning up the remaining liquid. Once all of the papers were safe and accounted for, Ron rolled up his pantleg to expose a freshly burnt knee and lower thigh. He fanned it as it bloomed into an angry red, many shades more vibrant than his hair.

Hermione dived towards the mantle at the far side of the drawing room that currently boasted a cluster of delicate looking glass bottles. She snatched one that contained some orangish gray paste. As she hurried back towards Ron, she tipped some into her hand. Hermione knelt at Ron's side, preparing to smear the paste on his burn.

"Don't!" said Ron suddenly, blushing scarlet. The burn was concentrated on the inside of his thigh. Harry coughed suddenly and took a few steps back.

"Oh, don't be silly you two!" Hermione scolded, dabbing the paste onto the burn mark with a medically matter-of-fact air. "Go on, rub it in yourself if you're so embarrassed."

Ron did, and sighed in relief. "Wow, that works great. What is that stuff?"

"Phoenix Ash Scorch Cream," said Hermione matter-of-factly, "I got it by owl-order from _Paracelsus's Drams and Drafts_." She returned it to the cornucopia of other vials that were overflowing the mantle, crowding out dour Black family portraits and evil looking heirlooms. Harry followed her, suddenly intrigued by vials of pickled murtlap tentacles and demiguise hair.

"That reminds me, Hermione, I have been meaning to ask you about, er, a few good healing spells," said Harry. "I think a bit of knowledge about cures would do Ron and me good. I can't just keep shoving a bezoar down his throat every time there's trouble." Harry shot Ron a grin. After years of getting Hermione to help with their homework, they both knew that flattering Hermione's studious side normally got what they wanted. In fact, Hermione looked quite pleased as she reorganized the bottles and cruets.

"It's not just spells, Harry. Witches and wizards go to extra advanced school after Hogwarts for years to learn all this stuff. Healing magic is a very advanced art, be it potions, tonics, poultices, curative magic—and those are just for non-magical injuries. If you're wounded by a magical creature, plant, or bug, there's a whole department at St. Mungo's devoted the wounds like that. But the real tough stuff comes from trying to undo a jinx or a curse. There's a lot of theory behind it all."

"Well if you were to put it simply, what would you start with?" said Harry, cutting off Hermione's lecture before it began.

"Well, simply put, I'd say-" Hermione began.

" _Sim_ -ply," interrupted Ron. "I know that look on your face. Whatever answer you were about to give was anything but simple." Hermione's nostrils flared, but Harry laughed out loud.

"He's got a point, Hermione," agreed Harry, "You know you're leagues ahead of us when it comes to this stuff." Ron gave Harry a look that said, _stop laying it on so thick._

Hermione hadn't noticed, she already had an armful of bottles, books, and a few scrolls that she had cherry-picked from the organized mess around her. She pushed the coffee table away, clearing a space on the rug in in the middle of the room and laid everything out before herself. She looked up at the boys expectantly. Obediently, they sat down in front of her.

"The first and most _simple_ thing you need to know about healing magic is that the body is its best doctor, and most magic is designed to either speed up, bolster, or encourage the body's natural processes. A human's biological healing power is practically magical, and no spell or potion has been able to replicate it fully."

"Are you trying to say that if a blast-ended skrewt got me with one of its suckers, you'd tell me the best thing for me is lots of bedrest and mum's homemade kippers?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"Essentially, yes," Hermione said, rather austerely, picking up one of the scrolls in front of her. "Of course there's other ways to hasten that process along. Cleaning the wound, neutralizing any lingering magical interference, and strengthening the immune system. That's why Madam Pomfrey is so liberal with her Pepper-Up Potion, other than curing colds, it gives the body the basis upon which to heal itself."

Hermione spread the scroll she was handling in front of her. Harry and Ron both leaned forward.

"Hey, this is Polyjuice Potion!" exclaimed Ron.

Hermione beamed, "Yes, well done!"

"I remember since you were the one to swipe the Boomslang Skin from Snape's personal stores. I like to keep close track of the times you break the rules," Ron said cheekily, and Hermione's cheeks turned scarlet.

"Well, yes, rather… anyway. I brought it out because it's an excellent example of the individual elements of a potion combined to make a whole. Take a look at the ingredients list."

 _Fluxweed_

 _Knotgrass_

 _Lacewing Flies_

 _Leeches_

 _Bicorn Horn_

 _Boomslang Skin_

"Fluxweed allows the body unprecedented mutability, knotgrass and lacewing flies help intertwine two identities, leeches are mostly important in extracting the essence from whatever part of the person you add to the potion, bicorn horn ensures you are able to keep the two identities separate, and boomslang skin makes sure that it's only the outer layer of the body which is changed, not the inner."

"And what happens if you use part of a different species that's not a human?" said Ron.

Hermione lunged at him, and Harry, laughing, had to hold her back. "You know perfectly well what happens then, Ronald Weasley! I was in the hospital wing for weeks! Do you know how long it took to convince that tail it wasn't mine?" Ron was still laughing uproariously, and Hermione struggled against Harry's hands around her wrists trying to get at him.

"So what does polyjuice potion ingredients have to do with healing?" Harry asked, trying desperately to change the subject. Hermione harrumphed and disentangled herself from Harry, sighing as if she were throwing pearls to swine.

"It's only to start you thinking about the component parts of magic. Every incantation, potion ingredient, and flick of the wand is a building block that can be combined in different fashions to make every known facet of magic in current knowledge. Here, for instance. Harry, what's the wand motion for the _Flipendo_?"

Harry made a quick slash and flick motion across his body.

"And for the Locomotor Charm?" Hermione asked.

Harry thought for a second and then made a more sweeping upward gesture with his wand followed by a downward flick.

"And how about Wingardium Leviosa?"

"Oh let me have a go," said Ron. "I do believe, Miss Granger, that would be the _swish_ and _flick,_ " he said in a perfect imitation of Professor Flitwick.

"Precisely," said Hermione with a guarded smile. "Don't you see anything similar about those spells? They all have to do with movement. The Knockback Jinx, _Flipendo_ , pushes something away from you, the Locomotor Charm will let you transport any object you desire, and _Wingardium Leviosa_ , of course, results in levitation. Now think of the wand motions."

"The flick at the end," Harry concluded, "They all have it. Are you saying that's what causes the motion?"

"Well, in part," said Hermione, "but that's a step in the right direction. Here, take a look at this." Hermione flipped through her copy of Miranda Goshawk's _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and then thrust it into the boys' laps, pointing at an entry halfway down page 67.

* * *

 **The Freezing Charm**

 **Explanation** : will stop any living or inanimate creature from completing their current action and hold them in a suspended state.

 **Incantation** : _Immobulus_ (ih-MOW-byoo-luss)

 **Wand Gesture** : Signal Point

 **Notes** : Purpose, as always, is critical when performing this piece of magic. The caster's body should be held as still as possible to mimic the desired effect, and the wand pointed with a decisive and direct motion at the intended target. Interestingly, this spell is an exception to the common rule of "Fear Induced Failure" laid out in Chapter 17, and is actually strengthened instead of weakened when the caster is feeling a fair amount of fear, as was noted when Hale Cuthbert of Brighton was confronted by a charging Re'em while on holiday in Borneo. And even though he wet himself in fear, his Freezing Charm was of such immense force that the irritable Re'em was stuck for 16 hours and 7 minutes before the spell wore off.

Quantums: Stillness, and to a lesser extent, cold.  
Antipodals: Motion, and to a lesser extent, heat.

* * *

"Yeah? So?" said Ron, trying to push the book back towards Hermione.

"Look closer, at the very bottom of the entry," she insisted.

"KWAHN-tums? Anty-POE-dahls?" said Ron, squinting at the fine print under the passage. "I don't think I've ever noticed those."

"An-TIP-uh-dahls," corrected Hermione. "And you never have had any need to before. We wouldn't have started work on them in Charms until this year. I only know about them because of some extracurricular reading, and of course Arithmancy."

"I thought Arithmancy was magic math," said Harry, confused. Hermione blew a sigh out of the corner of her mouth, obviously becoming a bit frustrated with the pair of them.

"Arithmancy does have to do with the importance of numbers and their magical properties, _magic math_ as you call it, but it _also_ deals with the basic components of spells and potions and how they can neutralize one another. Quantums are the pieces that make up a spell. Antipodals are direct opposites of those Quantums. As for the Freezing Charm, stillness and cold are your Quantums and motion and heat are your Antipodals."

"Would this help in dueling? Sending out a spell that is the opposite of your opponent's?" asked Harry.

"Precisely. But you do have to be careful. Even though _Incendio_ is the exact opposite of _Aguamenti_ , it will still be weaker. Fire will always yield to water. Other natural opposites are harder to guess," said Hermione, looking cautiously at Harry.

"Makes sense," said Ron.

Hermione continued, "Some spells are exact opposites of one another. For example, _Stupify_ and _Renervate_ are a very common pair of spells that are exact opposites—all of their Quantums are the Antipodals of the other. Others spell pairs are inexact, like _Locomotor_ may be to _Immobulus_. _Locomotor_ uses the component parts of motion and control, while _Immobulus_ uses the component parts of stillness and cold. _Locomotor_ will negate stillness but not necessarily cold. An exact opposite of _Immobulus_ may be a spell that induces motion and heat, but there's really no need for a spell like that, is there, so one hasn't been invented yet, or at least, hasn't been reported to the Ministry." Ron and Harry's eyes started to take on the glazed look they'd get when listening to a particularly complicated lecture from McGonagall.

Hermione tried a different tact, "Speaking of creating new spells _,_ Arithmancy is also the practice of making new pieces of magic. Spell Architecture and Potion Creation is a very, very tricky skill and can be quite dangerous if practiced improperly."

"So naturally, you've already mastered it," Ron said with a bored look.

Hermione smirked, and took on a bit of a haughty air. She tapped the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ still open to the Freezing Charm page with her wand three times, and announced grandly, " _Locum Costodi_." Nothing happened.

"Well, you gave it your best shot. It looked good," said Harry kindly. Hermione exhaled exasperatedly. She closed the book, and shoved it at Harry.

"Open it," she commanded.

Harry did as he was told, and the book fell open to the Freezing Charm page. He closed the book again, and opened it to a different section, and the pages ruffled until he was back at page 67, right where he had left off.

"You made a book-marking spell," said Ron. "Of _course_ you made a book-marking spell. You could have created a surefire way to avoid teachers in the hallways or given yourself teeth that never had to be brushed, but you made a book-marking spell."

"This is very complicated magic! It took me almost three months of work to do this! I'm now a published author in the Ministry's Catalogue of Developing Spellcraft, the youngest in 30 years," Hermione said rather huffily.

Ron had taken the book from Harry, and was riffling through the pages, opening and closing the book, and having it insistently return him to the Freezing Charm page. "So how do you make it go back to how it was?"

"Well… I'm still working on that part," Hermione said evasively, taking back the book. "Anyway, do you see how Quantums and Antipodals work? And how knowing about them can be highly valuable when creating a cure?"

Met with rather blank stares from both boys, Hermione continued. "You know how there are some things Madam Pomfrey sent off to St. Mungo's to be taken care of that she couldn't handle? Like when Katie Bell was cursed by that opal necklace Malfoy made Madam Rosmerta give her?" They nodded.

"Well that's work for _mediwizards_. Madam Pomfrey is a _healer_. Which means she has a concentration in healing non-magical wounds. Though Madam Pomfrey has plenty of experience reversing simple hexes and jinxes, Mediwizards are people who are professionals in Antipodal Cures and concocting antidotes for curses, jinxes, hexes, and other backfired spells. They break the original curse down into its constituent parts and then treat each of those individually. Just like how when you create an antidote in potions, you need to decant off each ingredient and cure them individually. If I seem to remember correctly, the Half-Blood Prince wasn't too useful for you there, Harry," Hermione teased.

Harry looked sour, remembering that particular Slughorn class at which he had failed miserably.

"So how does this help us cure wounds?" Ron said. "I _knew_ you couldn't make anything simple," he said with a nudge thrown at Harry.

Hermione swatted his shoulder. "Curing spells _isn't_ simple! There's nothing I could have done to make it so… Alright, curing wounds, let's get to it. What kind of injuries can a witch or wizard sustain? Let's take the mundane sort first. Broken bones. Easy. _Episkey_ will work for most fractures, and you'll want to us _Brackium Emendo_ for anything more dire."

"Hold on," Harry said, worried, "are you sure about that one? I spent a very painful night re-growing bones because of Lockhart's _Brackium Emendo_."

"Quite sure," said Hermione placatingly. "It was a bad bit of magic, that's for sure, but any spell always has a slight chance for malfunction, even if you are a well-qualified wizard, as Lockhart most clearly was not."

"Burns we know," said Ron. "Use the magic firebird slag paste."

"Ron!" scolded Hermione.

"What?! Slag means ash. Honestly, woman."

"Bites," said Harry, thinking of any number of creatures that Lord Voldemort might have turned to his cause.

"Well, you're fresh out of luck if it's a werewolf. Obviously, only if he's currently a wolf, otherwise the results are not so terrible, like we saw with Bill's encounter with Fenrir. Bites from many dark creatures like vampires or chimaera aren't able to be healed by any kind of known magic. Other creatures and plants have a toxic bite, like Venomous Tentacula or Cornish Pixies. Those kind of poisonings can generally be healed with a Common Poison Antidote. I've got plenty of it here," Hermione held up a vial of thin, faintly lavender looking liquid.

"As for the wound itself, knitting flesh is a bit harder than healing bone. Bones are not as complicated you see. They're a single structure, and they're probably the easiest bit of healing magic out there, but flesh is a bit trickier. Essence of Dittany will speed up the healing process by many days, weeks even," Hermione indicated a small stoppered bottle, "and if bleeding is a problem, you can use _Vulnera Sanentur_ to slow down or even stop the flow of blood."

"I've heard that one used before," said Harry, but didn't expand. Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance but decided not to pursue the topic.

"But on the topic of Magical Creatures, we have learned most of the basics of defense against common creatures like grindylows, red caps, or boggarts, thanks to Professor Lupin. Others like yetis and quintapeds are so confined to specific areas of the world, we'll probably never have to worry about them. Did you know, Harry, that the Patronus Charm can be used on another creature other than dementors? Lethifolds, also called, Living Shrouds. They sound truly horrible," Hermione shivered.

"Alright, diseases. What if I really did have Spattergroit?" Ron said challengingly.

Hermione picked up the gauntlet, "Well, in that case, Harry and I would be staying well away from you for at least a few weeks. It's caused by a nasty fungus that has to be convinced to take a different host. It prefers another wizard, but after a few weeks, it will grow bored and normally a tasty, decomposing log, or something of that nature will suffice, and it will move hosts. But that process could take ages, and still the original host will have to fight off the infection on their own. Dragon Pox is a more fatal version of Chicken Pox—another reason to believe chickens are descendants of dragons!—Gunhilda of Gorsemoor created a cure to it in the 1600s. You know that humpbacked witch that conceals a passage to Honeydukes from Hogwarts? That's her! I only just realized that last year when Professor Binns was going over some truly remarkable medical history."

Ron and Harry both kept quiet about Hermione's immunity to being bored out of her mind in Professor Binns' class.

"So, I have a question," said Ron. "How did the twins go about making their Skiving Snackboxes? I've always wondered."

"It's actually quite an advanced bit of magic!" said Hermione. "They've created _new_ potions that induce vomiting, fainting, nosebleeds, and fever, and then baked them into pastilles, nougats, fudge, etcetera. And _then_ they created a perfect antidote to their original potions. I'm sure that's what most of their testing was about, because creating a perfect pair of Quantums and Antipodals is not easy. Also baking. Those boys must be a whiz in the kitchen."

"They are!" said Ron. "You'd never guess it, but they are!" said Ron through a mouthful of scone. Apparently, talking about the snackboxes had made him hungry.

Hermione gave him a slightly sickened look, but then turned to Harry. "Does that answer your question satisfactorily?"

"More than," said Harry gratefully, "thanks, Hermione."

A silence fell over them, broken only by Ron's chewing as they surveyed the spellbooks, notes, and potions that surrounded them. For a few crazy minutes, preparing to fight back against Voldemort had felt like an intense study session leading up to an exam. But now, the reality of their quest took hold again. No amount of homework could prepare them for what they may face in the coming months.

Their overwhelming task weighed heavy on their shoulders. Ron swallowed, catching the tension in the air just as Hermione flung herself at the boys and enveloped them into a hug. Both of their faces were lost in her bushy brown hair. Ron started to gag jokingly.

"Oi! My mouth was open, Hermione!" Harry complained loudly.

Ron smirked, joining in the ribbing, "Yeah! I'm going to be spitting brown hair for days!"

"Sorry, sorry," said Hermione, embarrassed. Ron was already munching on something else when Hermione looked up. "Ron! That chocolate isn't for eating! It's got important healing powers! Put it back!"

"Oh, and I suppose this licorice is for healing as well, is it?" teased Ron.

"It certainly is!" shrieked Hermione, trying to grab back her vials and boxes and stuff them into her beaded bag out of Ron's sight.

"I dunno, Harry," Ron said suspiciously, "I think Granger's holding out on us!" Harry laughed and Hermione fumed.

Just then, Kreacher came around the corner to announce that lunch was ready and the trio trooped off to the kitchen for one of their last decent home-cooked meals for a very long time.


End file.
